


a touch of your hand on my weeping skin

by glassrosey



Category: Chuck (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Rewrite, Chuck is the third wheel, Doesn't change plot much, F/M, Filling In the Gaps, Major Headcanons, Missing Scenes, Sarah will eventually fall for Chuck just like in the show but the focus is on Casey/Sarah, and interprets characters actions and motivations differently, established but past Sarah/Bryce, jarah - Freeform, just adds details in the middle of it, rated for suggestive content, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:14:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25931185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glassrosey/pseuds/glassrosey
Summary: Have you been rewatching Chuck again now that it's on Amazon Prime? Are you thinking "there must be something more to Casey and Sarah's relationship then the show lets on." Like what even are all those secret looks and how are they able to communicate WITHOUT words??Surely we're missing some information.Cue this rewrite of Season 1 of Chuck but it's Casey/Sarah centered.(Written for my own sanity as I watch back through season 1 and on. Essentially my headcanon of the season, or missing scenes if you will.)
Relationships: John Casey/Sarah Walker
Kudos: 6





	1. Chuck and Agent Walker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've only watched through season 3 and that was years ago. quotes used directly from show mixed with fanfic.
> 
> Episode 1 (1/2)

The target dropped from the roof, landing on both feet. He staggered forward until-

BLAM- a spray of blood was followed by a cry of pain.

The man dropped to the pavement like a sack of mud. Casey stepped forward, hands holding his gun at the ready. He grimaced at the body splayed on the ground in front of him.

“Don’t move.”

The body, Bryce Larkin, twitched on the wet pavement. Casey was quick but calm as he advanced. Looking down, he registered the excess of blood on the man’s nice white button-up and dress slacks. Very little of it was from his bullet.

“Too late Casey.” Larkin breathed, breathless. His fingers twitched on the electronic gadget in his palm, his head lulled on his neck, and Bryce was still. The gadget began smoking, fizzling sparks. Large digital letters flashed across the screen spelling out what appeared to be a name. Casey simply nudged the body with his black booted toe.

Pity, he thought.

Pity.

The man was dead. Not a surprise what with missing as much blood as he was. He crouched beside him, squinting down at the upside down device. The cracked screen had gone blank, black. It wasn’t long before more agents arrived. Three or four swarmed around Casey and the corpse as rain dripped from the dim rooftops.

He’d done his job.

* * *

It was the next afternoon when his superiors called him in.

Light filtered through the cheap blinds of his window falling across the messy bed sheets. In all honesty he’d slept in. He had a headache too. Two rings of his apartment landline and he was up, blinking blearily at the ceiling and then at the bedside table where the phone was. He picked it up and was instructed to answer his cell by an irritable, snappy voice. He hung up and did as directed.

Flipping his cell open to the recents tab, he saw four missed calls.

Without a delay, he rang his contact. They gave him the address. As Casey climbed out of bed, adjusting his plain striped boxers, he scooped up his gun from the bedside table.

Getting dressed to go was a bit more of a struggle than usual. He wore his suit again but today he left the white shirt crumpled on the floor for a charcoal grey one.

* * *

**Location: Directorate of National Intelligence, Washington D.C.**

Two silhouettes stood in a half destroyed lab. Wires hung from the ceiling and bits of charred equipment were scattered across the once white tiles. Langston Graham and Diane Beckman were standing in front of a large smashed in computer. Shards of glass and pieces of interface crunched under Casey’s feet as he entered but he didn’t bother to avoid the destruction.

“Bryce Larkin was CIA, Graham. He was one of your agents.” Beckman wasn’t trying to hide the disapproval in her tone and body language. She was wearing a boxy suit jacket and knee length skirt which did nothing for her wrinkled face.

“It was the NSA’s job to find him.” Graham retorted “And to question him,” he emphasized, “not kill him. Thanks to Rambo here we’ve got nothing.” The sour look on his equally creased face was clear distaste.

Casey didn’t mind. He didn’t like Graham either. “No, you’ve got a dead CIA agent. It’s a gold star in my book.”

“If this gets out-”

“It won’t.” Casey was calm.

“Nobody asked you.”

“Actually they did.” Beckman bristled. “Major Casey is heading up this investigation.”

Graham adjusted his sleeve cuffs, looking down at the floor. He didn’t hide his scowl either.

“So what was Bryce after? What did this computer actually do?” Casey still directed his questions at the CIA head, watching for a vein in the older man’s temple.

He wasn’t given the satisfaction, only a curt answer which Beckman cut in to give her two cents.

They gave him a rundown of the supercomputer’s history, importance, function. It was obviously difficult for them to interact, but the two department heads kept the corrections and bickering to a minimum. Casey listened with one ear, filtering out the pure propaganda and biases with the other. His mind was only half focused on their words.

Just eleven hours before he’d been jogging through this room. Larkin had tried to give him the slip by jumping out of the third story window onto the roof. Casey had run through the back of the building to intercept him in the parking lot.

“Whoever received Larkin’s email got all of our secrets. Find those secrets Casey.”

He returned his full focus to his superior, “Found this on Larkin, hard drive is fried but we picked up a trace signature on it.” He handed over the cracked little gadget they’d pried out of the man’s postmortem grip.

“Where?”

“Los Angeles. Which is perfect,” he flashed teeth, “I’ve been feeling a little pasty.”

It wasn’t much longer before they sent him on his own merry little way.

He’d had worse debriefings. Graham and Beckman had been less professional before. All in all, today was shaping up to be a good day.

* * *

The Buy More Sarah was currently standing in was dinky at best, pathetic at worst. Afternoon shoppers meandered around, examining price stickers and product specs, or just chatting. Every surface that wasn’t covered in the obnoxious Buy More green was slapped over in electric yellow that jabbed at the eyes.

“I hope I’m not interrupting.” She’d opened with a large, sweet, full toothed smile.

“No not at all!” He’d stuttered, face flushing. He’d been singing a song, not one she knew but it didn’t have a very catchy tune nor was it flattering. Chuck clasped his hands together and rocked back on his feet, wide eyes staring at her. “That’s… it’s from Batman.”

“Because that makes it better?”

They shared an awkward laugh. He was the one making up for most of the awkward.

He had a round face with distinct smile dimples. A mop of dark curls flopped down into his eyes and as he spoke he ran a hand through them, tossing stray curls everywhere. And he was tall. Over six feet. Not an unattractive feature on a man and she smiled wider, a sparkle glinting in her eye. He was just adorable.

How much could she get away with making him sweat?

She leaned into the customer service counter, propping her elbows on an offending yellow promotional tag. The gap of unbuttoned blouse as her shoulders hunched together allowed a glance of skin to show. Chuck deliberately stared at a point just above her ear. Before she could continue with this delightful conversation, a voice piped up from at her shoulder.

“Hi, uh, I’m Morgan. This is, uh, this is Chuck.” It was a heavily bearded, shaggy haired, petite man wearing one of the wretched green Buy More associate polos.

“Wow, I didn’t know people still named their kids Chuck. Or, uh, Morgan for that matter.”

There was another round of awkward laughter. She smiled again, baring her uniform white teeth.

Chuck seemed like a nice guy.

* * *

He seemed even nicer when in the middle of breaking into his apartment that evening, he managed to shove his PC's hard drive from her arms and onto the floor where it crashed to pieces. All because he thought he knew karate. She actually wasn't made. He was making her life a breeze.

The plus to all of this was that dressed from head to toe in black like she was, they'd never even suspect it was her. She didn't like the semi-suffocation through the full head covering mask. Discomfort usually had its perks.

* * *

“Like I said, the computer was destroyed. Beyond repair.” She sat in her car in front of the Buy More watching Chuck as she held her cellphone to an ear.

“It’s done.” She heard Graham’s sigh through the phone and could almost see him pinching the bridge of his nose. “I want you in the air in an hour.”

“But what if he has an external drive? A backup??”

“It’s over Sarah. The NSA is stepping in. Bryce was CIA, he was our guy and he burned us.” There was a long pause, “Casey’s on his way out.”

Her heart dropped out of her chest and she swallowed more audibly than she'd meant to.

“You’re being recalled.”

Anger flared up inside of her throat, scalding like boiling water. Yet her voice was quiet, soft. “Cause of Casey? He’s a burnout.”

“He’s a killer, Sarah. Old school. I want you to listen to me.” She wasn’t used to the gentleness in his tone. “Whatever happened with Bryce, you couldn’t have known. You couldn’t have stopped it.”

“But I can fix it. If there’s a backup, I’ll find it. Just give me 12 hours.” She flicked the flip phone shut. Blinking rapidly, Sarah clutched the phone with numb fingers.

* * *

It was with those numb fingers that she pressed the little service bell by Chuck’s elbow. He jerked up from where he’d been slouching with his face pressed into the off white customer service desk.

She said something cheesy when he asked why she was back like, “Uh, I’m not sure I’m able to receive calls... ‘cause I never got one from you.”

He looked around him like he was afraid someone had hidden cameras and maybe just maybe this was actually a prank for cable television.

It felt so nice to smile, “I’m sorry I left so quickly yesterday. I had an appointment with a realtor. I actually just moved here.”

“Welcome.” He squeaked, flipping a pen and stuffing it in his pocket.

“Thanks."

While it may have only been their second meet up, she asked him out on a date. He flushed worse than their first meeting but seemed excited.

“Apparently my schedule is wide open.”

“Great.” She patted his hand, catching his eyes and holding gazes. No sparks, but his irises were the softest color brown. A shot of heat like a ray of sunshine warmed her from her neck to her toes. “I look forward to it!” She wasn't lying.

* * *

Casey had enjoyed his flight over from Washington. The plane ride was quiet and uneventful and he got in a good three hour nap. One good day was shaping up to being a good week.

That was until he saw Walker. Nothing spoils the mood quicker than seeing someone you weren’t expecting, someone with a history connected to your current job. Casey was sitting in his car outside of a local Buy More waiting for a certain Charles Bartowski to leave for the day. Instead he saw the CIA agent. She looked preoccupied, walking at a quick pace out of the Buy More with her blonde hair swinging down and her heels clicking off of the pavement. He watched her march to her car from his own. There was something incredibly unnerving about her. Something… he didn’t like admitting.

He’d had run-ins with her before. It came with the territory. Reputations came with the territory too. He had no interest in getting caught up in another one of her rumors.

It was then, just as she got into her car and started the ignition that his cell rang. Beckman.

“Major Casey. Forgot to inform you, Graham put Walker on the case.”

“Thanks, I’m already aware.”

“She knows you're on the case too.”

“Roger that.”

As long as she didn’t get in the way nothing would have to come of it.

* * *

That evening Casey was sitting in his car again, watching. It was night time, drizzling. The city lights glowed in the dark puddles of the street and in the shiny black of his suv. Bartowski and Walker strolled down the sidewalk, arms swinging, dumb grins on their faces. They didn’t seem to notice him and his companion even with the windows rolled down.

Loose strands of hair fell framing her face, the bun pulled up at the top of her head almost looked like a halo. But he wasn’t looking at that. He also wasn’t looking at her half-exposed neck peeking from the collar of her black jacket.

“Chuck Bartowski’s your mark. NSA director wants him with a pulse. Till we find out who he’s working with and who he knows, he lives.” Casey paused, “CIA skirt…” he cocked the barrel of his gun, “you can kill.”

* * *

Twenty minutes later he watched them from the wall of the brightly lit, flashing club. As he leaned against the wall the base thrummed through his body. He saw Walker see his men. She grabbed Chuck by the shoulders and spun him around, danced him across the club floor, leading. Bartowski had a stupified but happy look on his face. As his men closed in she continued her little dance. A knife in a thigh and jab to the gut, his men weren’t a challenge for her. She and Chuck made their way to the big double doors one man down at a time.

Casey didn’t do anything to stop her from quickly dispatching them.

There was nothing more beautiful than a dangerous woman. Walker was certainly dangerous. Not only that, she was agile, kind of stylish. Chuck on the other hand was less than graceful as he tried to simply keep his feet on the dance floor.

Not that Casey would have done better.

All distractions aside, he followed them from the club. He walked, then jogged along pushing through the intoxicated night scene crowd. He yelled for Donnigan to follow and they raced for their black suv. He wasn’t driving, for practical reasons. It’d be easier to jump out first this way.

His targets jumped into a car and a moment later it revved to life.

Their vehicle sped through the city. Casey and Donnigan followed not far behind, bearing down on the racing Buy More company car. Suddenly the car jerked through a lane of traffic and started zooming in reverse down an empty street.

“Go! Go! Don’t lose them!” Casey yelled, holding on tight to the overhead handle.

Donnigan practically stood on the gas and they swerved through a lane of traffic themselves.

“Come on!”

Their car rammed into the front bumper of Chuck’s red and white minivan, metal scraping on metal. As Donnigan let up on the gas for another hit, Casey caught Walker’s eyes. It was the first time they were face to face both figuratively and literally that day. He’d been watching her from the shadows and now they were looking into each other’s eyes. Her expression was almost steel but he saw just a tiny bit of panic. Maybe that was calculation. He gave her a closed mouth smirk, simple.

Then, their vehicles jarred together again and he jerked forward. He grit his teeth against the shock, still collected.

She yelled something to her passenger and grabbed hold of the steering wheel, still not breaking eye contact. Another jolting bump. As she stepped on the gas, the minivan zoomed backward and to the side then down a flight of stairs and out of sight.

Casey wasn’t worried. Well, he wasn’t pleased either. They screeched to a stop just at the top of the stone steps, the car shuddering and engine whining.

* * *

Donnigan found another way down.

Walker and her charge had driven into the parking lot of a fancy new hotel. The hotel was obviously under construction but because it was late enough in the evening there wasn't a person to be seen. The lot was almost empty except for the stray car here and there. Most notable about the deserted area was the guard's booth leading in and out of the lot. Their car sped through the empty guard's station-

And, they rammed right into the side of the Nerd Mobile going 75. The two vehicles connected in slow motion, sparks flying past his window. The red and white minivan slid across the asphalt, tipping and crashing onto its side. Walker climbed out of the busted door of the minivan yanking Chuck with her. They tripped along straight into the path of the once again advancing suv. She shoved him out of the way.

The next few seconds were a blur but one thing was very clear. As they sped toward agent Walker and she stared him down, he felt something in his gut drop like freefall. She stood tall, body poised in the blinding beam of headlights, hair flipping into her face. Then she was spinning on the spot, throwing a knife. Two things happened at once. She ducked, crouching to avoid damage but the knife she’d thrown flew through the air straight into a safety switch on the side of the guard box. He felt his heart jump straight into his lungs as their big black suv crashed head on into a set of rising safety bars.

Casey clutched his head as lights buzzed just inside his eyelids. By the time he had enough brain clarity to think, his targets were sprinting from the scene of the crash and into the hotel. He shoved his door open and stumbled out into the night air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> since only like four people ship this I have taken it into my own hands to officially name this ship: Jarah


	2. Agent Walker and Agent Casey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Episode 1 (2/2)

Sweat beaded up against the collar of Casey's dress shirt as he climbed through the empty stairwell.

His dark cropped curls clung to his heated forehead. The exertion of running up each flight of stairs two at a time had him panting for air, nostrils flaring. He knew he was close to the top. Climbing up landing after landing, Casey, at last, stood before an ajar maintenance door at the top of the building. He took a second to catch his breath, hand resting on his hip, just under his suit jacket. Damn. That had been one hell of a climb. He pushed through the maintenance door out onto the rooftop.

Chuck and Walker were standing ten feet apart, both tense.

Walker had her gun out, pointed at Bartowski. The building's exterior lights glinted off of the frazzled mess of the blond hair down around her shoulders. Her black jacket was open and the sleeves stretched across her extended arms. Bartowski had his back to Casey, arms locked to his sides and shoulders stiff against a striped button-up. He couldn't see Chuck's face but he could read the kid's posture. 

“It’s late. I’m tired.” Casey strolled toward them, picking at an eyelash, regulating his breathing. “Let’s cut the crap, give him to me now. He belongs to the NSA.”

“The CIA gets him first.” She grit her teeth against the words, “You come any closer and I shoot.”

“Sarah- I’m freaking out.” Chuck gave her a meaningful look.

Stepping forward with his gun extended, Casey said, “You shoot him, I shoot you, leave both your bodies here, go out for a late night snack. I’m thinking maybe pancakes.”

In slow-motion, Casey and Walker made eye contact. Her mouth opened to reply but before she could, Bartowski made a break for it.

Her voice pitched up into a yell of warning. “Chuck, no!”

As if he couldn't hear her, he dashed for the edge of the rooftop. Did he want to fall off? He froze at the lip of the roof, feet skittering on the gravelly ground.

"Chuck, move away from the ledge." She readjusted her fingers on the trigger of her handgun.

Before he could turn his head toward her, his whole body began twitching, spazzing. The veins in his neck pulsed visibly. His head knocking back on his neck. Just as suddenly, he was still.

Casey snapped to look at Walker in confusion, questioning. She shook her head at him, still out of breath from the climb up to the roof. She inched toward Chuck, gun held up and at the ready, watching Casey for his next move. He inched forward, matching her movements. Chuck was still teetering at the lip of the building.

He spun to face the two agents with wide eyes but he sounded sure, and his hand didn’t shake as he pointed across the gap between buildings.

“They’re gonna kill him.”

“Kill who.” Casey barked looking between Walker and Bartowski.

“Stanfield! The general, uh, the general! Stanfield the general, the NATO guy!”

She and Casey exchanged yet another look and the bewilderment was mutual. But neither of them lowered their guns. A breeze ruffled the sticky bangs from his forehead.

“Look, somethings wrong with me, okay? I don’t know what it is but something is very, very wrong with me and I’m remembering things that I shouldn’t know!”

“Okay Chuck, talk to me. Like what?” Her voice was fake steady. She swallowed, rocking on her heels, trying for control.

“I don’t know. I don’t know! For example, uh… there was- uh, there was a serbian demolitions expert at the Large Mart today! That’s kinda odd, wouldn’t you say? Look- last week the NSA, you guys intercepted some blueprints of a hotel, that hotel. And then the CIA, you guys found a file of schematics of a bomb in Prague. The bomb is in that hotel!”

“He _was_ working with Bryce.” Casey turned his gun on Chuck.

Walker turned her gun on Casey. “No, he opened Bryce’s email. Chuck,” she moved her focus, still aiming at Casey, “those pictures that you saw were encoded with secrets, _government_ secrets. If you saw them, then you know them.”

“There were thousands of them??” Chuck gaped at her.

“Wait a minute.” Disbelief mixed with a sort of disgust. “You’re telling me that all of our secrets are in _his_ head?”

“Chuck _is_ the computer.” Despite the gun in her hand Walker was trying to reason with him. It was in her eyes, a genuine plea for an open mind. Casey wasn’t against the idea of cross-department cooperation but if it came in the way of his mission, he’d be damned. This whole mess seemed like one big coverup waiting to bite him in the rear.

“Wait, what did you say? What does that mean?” Bartowski waved a hand above his head. "Hello! You're talking crazy."

Maybe. Maybe this wasn't the lie he suspected it was. Bartowski's act was too genuine for some big scheme. Walker was just as genuine in his panic.

“Chuck, you have to listen to me. You have to tell us where-” She inched even closer, mouth working, chewing on her lip. Whatever was going on between them, it didn't appear to be some kind of master plan.

“What’s happening to me!”

“You said there was a bomb, is there time to stop it?”

“What? What? Are you crazy?!” Chuck was really freaking out now, hands grasping at his dark curls.

Casey used his best voice for explaining to a child. “No. We’re the good guys. We get paid to keep bombs from exploding.”

“Look, I can’t- I can’t help you, okay? I really wish that I could but I can’t. Call Bryce. He’s the guy that can save the day.”

“Bryce is dead.” She shouted it, unnecessarily harsh. In her eyes was an unspoken desperation.

“Wha-”

An image of the bloody, motionless body flashed in Casey’s mind. Red stood out against the white dress shirt and rain like tonight clung to the memory. Casey blinked, the image was gone.

“He died sending those secrets to you.” Her voice hitched.

“Bryce is dead?”

Casey lifted his hand into the air and let off a shot. It cracked from his gun whistling air up into the sky. Both his audience jumped but he trained his gun back on Chuck, little red light floating on the stripes of his button-up. “Yeah and he’s gonna have a lot of company if you don’t start talking. So pretty please, can we defuse the bomb now?”

It was Walker and Chuck’s turn to exchange glances.

* * *

Working alongside Walker was an odd experience. Just as odd as it was new. Not ten minutes ago he’d been aiming a loaded gun to kill, now they were racing along a wet street chasing after a supposed civilian who might just hold all of the NSA and CIA’s collective intel.

Three sets of hurried feet clicked off the pavement.

Charles Bartowski raced ahead, untucked shirttails flapping and tennis shoes squeaking. John Casey was dressed for a James Bond movie in his neat black suit with his grey tie jumping against his neck on every jolting step. Just a few steps behind him Sarah Walker jogged to keep up. She was the most out of breath of the three of them. She was also the smallest. It was mostly because of his height that Chuck had gotten so far ahead.

Walker wasn’t dressed for this sort of thing. Not with her heels or the loose hair whipping her in the face. Despite her clothes, she still looked the part. Her arms were tucked into her sides for speed and her legs pumped up and down almost propelling her past Casey. If he’d been free to spare the thought… he might have felt a twinge of admiration.

Rain was misting down through the bright city lights reflecting off of slick cars and puddles in the dimpled street. Tonight was chilly for an L.A. evening. Currently, he was a bit preoccupied with finding and then diffusing a bomb, on any other day he might care more. He panted as they jogged through the sparse night crowd. It was late enough in the evening that pedestrians were either in the buildings enjoying the night-life or already safe in bed. One of the downsides of his job were the odd hours.

They neared the towering hotel’s front doors and jogged through the wide swinging doors just into the lobby. A few alarmed staff stepped forward to intercept the trio. Casey and Walker shoved past Chuck almost in unison and then shoved through the door attendants. Flashing their identification, they jogged out into the foyer.

“Wait! Casey, wait!” She held Chuck back, breath ragged, “We can’t take him in, he’s too valuable.”

Casey shoved him to the ground. “Okay, Johnny Commodore. You stay here, but you tell us where to go.” He made a point of gripping Chuck’s shirt too tightly.

“Uh, uh, the easiest way?”

“No, fastest, Chuck.” She waved a hand, urging him to get on with it.

“The fastest? Got it.” He struggled to his feet and pushed past Casey, jogging down a furnished hallway.

“Chuck, stop!”

They followed after him, splashing through a wide fountain. Walker reached out for Chuck’s shirt but missed, water splashing up around her feet as she tripped through. She bumped into Casey's side. He didn't bother to slow down, just propelled her forward by the small of her back.

“Chuck, wait!” But he wasn't waiting.

* * *

It was a nice hotel with dark wood paneling and golden details from the wall lamps to all the ornate doorknobs. Each hallway led to even more elegantly decorated halls and dark suite doors. If not for his pay grade, Casey would love to vacation here sometime.

“This way! This way!- This way!” Chuck waved his hands and gestured wildly at a wide towering set of doors just ahead.

Falling back, hands on his knees, he made room for the agents to race ahead. The two of them burst into a crowded hotel ballroom, Chuck not far behind. The large sweeping room was set up with fancy white tables and more gold detailing. It was packed, with full tables of civilians in formal wear. A few people looked around at the trio but most continued to dine and listen to the army official at the front of the ballroom The general stood at a podium on the far side of the room. Behind him rose a big glowing projector screen, with full-color graphics.

Casey clapped his hand onto Chuck's shoulder, irritable but questioning. Bartowski scanned the room, searching for the bomb.

“Chuck, where is it?” Walker asked.

“I don’t know… uh, uh- uh!” He swiveled around, searching. “That’s it.”

Casey shoved him in front and they took off for a large metal trolly with a silver food warmer on it. They gathered around it, ignoring the growing stares.

“It’s in this. Right here.” Chuck pulled the lid up with shaking hands and the metal lid squeaked loudly. It was this one for sure. He had revealed a chunky mini laptop and lots of C-4. Lots of C-4. The explosives were duck taped to the sides and underbelly of the trolly. On the flashing laptop-screen was a timer. And it didn't have much time left.

“No time to evacuate,” Casey breathed, “ideas?”

“Disconnect the laptop.” She replied, sweeping hair out of her eyes.

“There’s no trigger.” Casey kneeled in front of the cart, hands reaching for the wires. “The cables?”

“Definitely a trap.”

Between them, Chuck was hyperventilating.

“Uh, ladies and gentlemen we may have a cautionary situation here,” The general’s voice crackled through the overhead speakers, nervous. “So uh, we’ll take a short break.”

A sweep of voices and general disquiet rippled through the ballroom.

It was then that someone pulled Casey up by the shoulder, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Casey wasn’t trying to explain himself, he pushed the attendant off with a growl. Walker did better by waving the attendant away with a flash of her identification.

She pocketed the badge, wiping sweat from her upper lip and softening her tone. “Chuck, is there anything else you remember about the bomb?”

Before he could respond, his cellphone started ringing. Casey and Walker exchanged looks but promptly crouched to examine the cable-setup again. He skimmed his fingers over the rim of silver metal, looking for a clue. Any clue. Walker mumbled to herself, biting her lip in concentration. He tugged on a wire and she slapped his hand away.

As her hand made contact with his skin, a pulse of heat like electricity traveled up his arm straight to his heart. She blinked at him. Her eyes focused in on his mouth, breath slow, hitching. The smooth fabric of her jacket brushed against the cotton knit of his suit sleeve. Lips parting ever so slightly, her eyelids fluttered. He felt the lined texture of her palm against his wrist. One second, two, dragged on. He felt a thrumming in his abdomen and the sensation of her skin on his skin built like a battery charge. Then Chuck's voice cut through the buzz.

"Morgan buddy, I can't talk right now. No really!"

Walker snapped back to her scowl, pulling her hand away. “Are you crazy?? Don’t touch anything! We don’t know how this works and I am not ready to be blown sky-high by a clumsy mistake like pulling the bomb out.”

“You have a better idea?” He matched her tone, still aware of the heat in his belly.

“Any idea is a better idea than that.”

"Last I checked, which was right this second, you didn't have any ideas of your own."

"I've never seen a setup identical to this before but I do have some experience with explosives."

"By all means Walker, lead the way." He gestured at the laptop, scathing, tone sarcastic.

"My training at least tells me that there's nothing as stupid as pulling random wires out."

He flashed her a closed mouth smile, focusing in on her blue eyes. She didn't flinch but met his gaze full force, ice replacing the buzz from before. She had a distinct flowery scent tonight but kind of cottony and homey underneath the floral. He opened his mouth to say something when- Chuck pushed them apart, squeezing in between.

"Okay, okay, I have this idea.” His hands were shaking.

“That’s not an Xbox, and you’re not in X-Men.” 

“I understand that,” He snapped, avoiding Casey's glare. "This is a Prism Express laptop and we sell this in our store. It has a DOS override.”

Casey grabbed his hand, “Don’t even think about it.” Just because he'd been touching things didn't make this civilian qualified to.

Thirty actual seconds to go on the clock.

“I think I can do this,” directed at Walker, “please.” At Casey. 

“He’s our best shot.” She was certain.

Casey wasn’t but he let go anyway. Twenty-six seconds on the clock. “Go.”

“Mr Bomb, meet Mr Internet.” Chuck's fingers clacked away at the keyboard, letters blinking in the internet search box.

“He’s searching for porn.” Casey grimaced looking at Walker for a sign that maybe they should all just run like hell.

As if to say, **one second** , Chuck hummed. “Nuh uh.” If it was possible to touch a computer key like you were afraid it would give you the bubonic plague, that’s how Chuck tapped the enter button. A dozen little video boxes popped up on screen. The boxes were followed by explicit imagery, that Casey had never once wanted to see, flashing like lightning. As more and more boxes popped up, they stacked and stacked on each other. The screen filled with blurring images and muffled moaning until the whole computer fried with a burst of sparks and a burnt coppery smell.

They stood, shocked. Then, collectively, the three of them let a breath out.

“You did it!” Walker cheered, just as much disbelief in her tone as Casey felt. So much for the confidence earlier.

“I did it! I did! I- I defused a real bomb. This was real- like a real bomb! What… if I was wrong?”

“Don’t puke on the C-4, huh?” Casey slapped him on the back.

He finally focused his attention on the many frightened eyes of the party guests. Another attendant was trying to get his attention. Giving into their questions, he raised his voice to be heard over the hubbub. "Alright, alright! Yes. I do have authorization to be here. If you'd just shut up for a second and let me explain-"

As Casey argued with the growing crowd of staff and security, he caught sight of Walker swiping her hair up into a ponytail. Finally. She smoothed a hand up her neck and into the silk of her hair, straightening her posture. He half watched her give Chuck a few reassuring words, patting his back, and then she made her way over to Casey and the crowd.

* * *

  
Back out in the original deserted hotel parking lot, “He’s coming with me.” Casey and Walker chorused.

Law enforcement had arrived ten minutes after they'd diffused the bomb. Government officials had arrived thirty minutes later. If he was thankful of anything it was the paper-pushers arriving to take over the diplomacy stuff. Even after tailfeathers were smoothed down and explanations were given, Casey still had a job to do. His work night was far from over.

“What if this is a fluke?” Casey.

“And what if it wasn’t? What if he can stop something bigger?” Walker.

“Fine, we dip him in a psych tank and let him stare at four rubber walls for a decade. He’ll tell us what we want to know.”

“Casey, we don’t know how this works and what triggers the memories. He’ll crack wide open.”

“Not my job. I break things, I don’t fix em.”

“What about his job, his friends? What do we do about his sister?”

“What about my sister?” Chuck cut in.

“Nothing, we were just discussing-”

“No, hold on a second. You have to leave my family and friends out of this.” There was a new kind of panic in Chuck's eyes.

“We’ll see.” Casey crossed his arms.

“Look, Bryce sent that email to me-" The panic was growing. He stuffed his fists into his pockets and then pulled them back out to rest on his hips. "I’m the one remembering your secrets which means you have to listen to me." His face was twisted in a determined but unhappy grimace. "Both of you. And right now, I’m gonna go home.”

“No you’re not.” Casey grabbed him by the shirt collar, pulling them face to face.

“Yes, I am.” Chuck yanked his shirt away. “You, and you, need me.” He met Casey's scowl with a fierce scowl of his own. Then he walked away.

Walker watched him go, following his progress back to his car. It was dented, beaten up. Chuck circled the car, hands going to clutch at his hair. He crouched down to examine it but there was nothing he could do.

She looked back at Casey lifting her hands in defeat. The frustration in her eyes he felt all too personally. There, just like that, they had let the very object of their mission walk away. He was actually, literally, walking away. Chuck moved at a steady pace from the scene of his destroyed company car out into the dark city. His body was slumped, hunched over, and clutching at his arms.

“How far is he going to get on foot?” She sighed.

“It’s anyone’s bet.” 

They were silent.

"I have to go after him."

"Suit yourself."

She yawned, rubbing a hand over her flushed face. "I'm just glad I didn't have to kill you."

He gave her a look as if to say, **you kill me**?

"It's not every day that I get to meet someone like you Casey."

"Hmph." But really he was saying, **can you feel it? Did you feel what I did?** He was searching for an answer.

What was most frustrating was how he couldn't read her. Maybe his growing desire was what was jamming the signal between them. Don't be stupid was what he wanted to tell himself. He didn't often act on impulse, not when it came to women. Alright. That was a lie. He wasn't going to stand there and try and convince himself that he wasn't an impulsive man. He wasn't stupid enough for that.

"I'll see you around." He searched her eyes for an answer, for some kind of hint. If the spark in her blue eyes wasn't merely wishful thinking, then it was directed at him.

Walker turned, hands on hips. She took a deep breath and then she was jogging off after the civilian.

He stood there, watching her get farther and farther away. Darkness and city noises engulfed her figure. There she went, just like that. He swore at himself for being an idiot and made his way back to the waiting car. All the same, L.A. hadn’t been so bad.

Besides, his job wasn't over yet. He still had errands to run for Beckman.

* * *

Sarah was sitting on her cheap hotel bed, hands in her lap. Despite the cool room temperature, she was dressed in only a skin-tight tank top and a striped pair of boy-cut shorts. Her thin pink robe lay at the foot of the bed, discarded.

She was back from talking with Chuck. He'd shared a laugh; she'd given him a few words of encouragement. After their little talk, they'd sat out on the moonless beach in silence for at least an hour. At some point she had stood, brushing sand from her knees and the back of her pants. He didn't get up but looked at her. They were silent not even exchanging goodbyes. She'd done her best to give him a lighthearted wave before heading back to her car.

There hadn't been a reason to say goodbye. Tomorrow Sarah would get an update on her job from management. Where would they send her next? She had only just adjusted to Miami when she got the call about Bryce.

Sarah did not expect to see him again.

If Chuck was one thing, he was sweet. In his eyes was this sort of light. Every time she looked at him, Sarah knew that if she were only to take a step forward he would meet her.

The light in his eyes beckoned like an alien beacon. 'Come.' It said. 'I want to be your friend.'

_'Friend.'_

She'd learned at a young age that many people were unkind. Most would only spare you a thought if you were offering to give them something, to sacrifice or serve. Human's only knew how to take. If you asked for help, people would sell it to you. Usually at an absurd price. Anything could be bought but the one thing in the whole world that you couldn't purchase was love. Trust and love were almost the same things. While trust could be built, love was set high on an ivory pedestal. Sarah had never been able to climb to the top.

She knew that people had always had the habit of taking things from her. Her trust had been broken again and again until she learned to stop giving. Chuck was kind, awkward and self-conscious, but kind. She had this unexplainable feeling that he was just looking for the right person to give his love to. It was too bad that she wouldn't be around to find out.

As she sat on the crinkly bedcovers and thought of him, fatigue clung to her like a wet blanket. Her eyelids felt heavy and her body sagged. In her chest, a dull ache thrummed. The ache was all too familiar. Sarah was aware that this drag had nothing to do with sleep.

In her palm she held a cellphone, small and silver and light. Each little memory snapshot inside of the phone was like an individual brick. Despite its size, the cell weighed heavy in her hand. She'd told herself that it was a bad idea to look at pictures of Byrce. She'd ignored her common sense.

Each time she looked, she paid a heavy price.

Bryce.

Bryce was gone.

No matter how much she thought about it, no matter how many times she reread the report stashed in the bottom of her carry-on, the hard truth wouldn't sink in. It wasn't denial. It wasn't. It couldn't be.

_"Some people just have this thing about them that you can't forget. Even when they eventually move on, or leave your life, they'll always be there in your head. Maybe even inside of your heart. But the thing is that it's not only one intrinsic quality. It's every single, little, microscopic detail about them that you'll never be able to forget."_

Bryce had said that to her once. He couldn't have known that he'd been describing himself.

The memory of his voice against her ear whispering sweet nothings swept her up into its embrace.

_Golden light dances across his high cheekbones through the leafy shadows of palm trees. She's laying in his lap across his chest as he reclines on a beach chair. His arms around her are smooth, while the hair of his bare chest tickles her cheek. She winds her fingers in his rich brown locks, stroking his scalp. As he smiles the stubble of his cheek bumps against her forehead._

_Hair._

_It's a guilty pleasure of hers to intertwine her fingers in his hair. She'll trace his jaw and draw shapes into his ribs_ _while he sleeps but_ _while he's awake she plays with his feather-soft locks. He keeps his hair on the long side. He won't admit it, but he keeps it long for her._

_The soft rise and fall of his chest is soothing next to the swish and wash of waves._

-it was a memory. She needed to remember that those touches and that happiness was in the past or the pain might just choke her. Every detail of that day was a- a memory! Each sensation and image wasn't real, instead they had been lost to time.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she clutched the phone to her chest. The pictures the little gadget held pierced her heart, needle-sharp. They wouldn't leave her alone. The memories of Bryce's touch and his voice and the happiness of his presence wouldn't go away! She dropped the cell, hands quaking. A single drop of water slid down her cold cheek. Feet slipping from the papery white hotel sheets, she stood.

What did a girl have to do to get a drink around here?

* * *

Casey climbed the hotel stairs to the second floor. He could have taken the elevator. He hadn't.

This place was eight steps down in value compared to that nice hotel from earlier. Yet another downside to his job were the traveling accommodations. Sometimes he wondered if his employers got a kick out of stashing him in seedy, low-quality places like this one. The wallpaper was an ugly outdated floral print and the carpet was a dingy green, faded from wear. As he walked down the hallway, he checked each door for his number. Of course. They'd put him at the far end of the building.

He'd talk to Beckman about this the next time he got the chance. It was only one night in San Francisco for crying out loud! One night. They couldn't get him a better room? At least a hotel that didn't smell like stale dust?

Just as he reached the door with his room number beside it, the door on his right creaked open. The slow creeeeak didn't pair well with the early morning shadows from the grimy lamps. He paused in his tromp to see who would emerge. What kind of neighbor had he been stuck with?

At first glance, it was a tall woman dressed in only a robe. She stepped out into the hall and straight into him. They're shoulders bumped together and he sucked in a breath at the flicker of energy that zapped between their bodies.

She looked just as surprised to see him as he was to see her.

"This where you're staying?"

"It is." She offered.

"Funny, so am I." He shrugged waving his key and pointed to the door directly across from hers. "Our superiors have a terrible sense of humor."

"Speaking of-".

"Walker,"

"What?"

"It's late."

"I'm aware agent Casey."

"You look exhausted."

"I am." She sighed, shoulders sinking.

Maybe Larkin had been the sensitive type. He had no idea. He wasn't sure what kinda man was her type, but he assumed he wasn't. Just a hunch. Everyone knew about her and Larkin. He wondered if she knew what he had done to the deceased CIA agent. If she did know, it didn't seem to matter to her in the moment.

She stepped right up to him, eyes searching. They were so close that he could feel the caress of her breath against his chin. Walker was tall for a woman, he was even taller than her. He looked down, noticing the pink of her nose and moisture in her eyes. That fake floral scent from earlier was gone now. His guess that it had been perfume was confirmed. In its place was the comforting and earthy smell. Only, she was so close that a single inhale brought the intimate details of her scent soaring to life in his chest. The simple bitterness of it was like pomegranate but the fullness of it brought to mind rolling grass hills.

He would never have expected this from Walker. She was usually so cold. An arctic would have better fit his assumptions.

As they stood there unmoving, their faces an inch apart, his gaze focused in on the water clinging to her long lashes. The ground under their feet swayed and he put his hand out against the doorframe to steady himself. Before he understood what she was doing, she leaned in to his body.

Sarah Walker kissed him. It felt completely experimental. Any coherent thought in his head was gone. Blank white. She stepped back, eyes wide, but they said everything. **Yes? Or no?**

This is a terrible idea. His mind told him. These things don't end well. His brain said. He might not want a part in one of her rumors, but one time couldn't hurt. Maybe.

Leaning in, he kissed her back just as unsure. Her mouth was warm, soft.

She pulled away one more time.

 **I don’t trust you,** her eyes said.

 **I don’t trust you either,** his eyes replied.

 **Trust has nothing to do with this,** she assured him.

He offered his agreement by swaying forward to claim her mouth again. Electricity zipped through his chest, down to the heels of his feet.

She closed her eyes against his kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down so that he leaned over her. His hands found their way to her hips, still just a tad hesitant against the flowing energy. As she deepened the kiss he forgot all about that thing called common sense. The pulsing current in his brain was drowning out thought. Down, down, down he fell into her full earthy scent and the intoxicating buzz of her lips.

She was the one who cut the kiss short. Walker pulled back, breath heavy and eyes alight, face flushed.

The door to her room was still standing wide open and she raised her eyebrows in a question. **Coming in?**

Without hesitation, he pulled his bag with him, his free hand locked in hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when i said that this is canon-compliant, i mean't it? like, who can tell me that they're 100% sure that this couldn't have happened???? maybe it did. *whisper* that's the whole point of this fic.


	3. Shallow Flight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Episode 2 (1/3)

Casey woke at 7:36 am.

He lay on his back and underneath him, the crumpled sheets radiated his body's warmth back into his tired limbs.

Last night had been a late one.

Slowly, he opened his eyes.

The whole nondescript room was bathed in cool light. Sunlight stretched across the foot of the bed like grasping pale fingers, reaching for him, trying to drag him and his consciousness fully to the realm of wakefulness. He shielded his eyes the best he could from the morning's brilliance.

Despite his hovering hand, the light crept from between the gap in the starched hotel curtains to jab his weary eyes. The day beckoned for him to get up and embrace a new morning. He only had the willpower to squint at the light and then let his eyelids slide shut. 

He didn't know that it was 7:36 am exactly, but the watch-face glaring through his blurry morning vision told him was it just a bit past 7:30. He tried with half his brain to calculate how many hours sleep he had gotten. When he paused long enough in his closed-eye musings on the time, he was suddenly aware of extra heat. His foggy brain remembered that there was a body next to him.

Thoughts didn't want to sort themselves into a pattern that made sense.

Even still, the extra body explained the pleasant heat dragging him back into sleep. He stretched out further, relishing the feel of bare skin against his side.

Before he fully realized what he was doing through the haze of sleep, he had leaned over the body. Placing kisses to her bare shoulders, he slid his fingers up her back and across freckled skin to her neck. He leaned her chin to the side, pressing more open-mouthed kisses up along her neck to her ear. His mouth was firm but wet against her smooth jaw.

Her sigh caught in the covers, her voice a whisper, as she leaned into his touch. He took the breathy sighs as a sign of encouragement. Her skin was a warm glow against his body, against his roaming fingers, against his seeking mouth. Each kiss and press of his hands on her soft body brought him a step closer to true wakefulness. Dragging her jaw to his mouth for a final kiss, he-

It was then that he remembered exactly who lay beside him and who exactly the bed belonged to.

Was it too late to move his hands away? Was it too late to take back his roaming touches? The hot kisses on her bare shoulders and shivering neck?

“Good morning,” she muffled at him through the flimsy white cover. Sarah rolled to face him, flipping her hair across her shoulder. She leaned her chin on her arm, squinting her eyes against the unwelcome morning light.

He grunted in reply.

“Are you done? Or do you plan to lay here all morning?” There was a glint of amusement in her eyes, more than that there was unshielded desire.

He grunted again.

Walker slowly sat up, stretching her arms up above her head. Her soft breasts rose with her arms. The morning light danced in the spark of her eyes and formed a halo in the messy strays of her golden hair. She touseled a handful of hair, stretching her arms farther into the air, yawning wider. Her back arched, arms locking above her shoulders, a pleased sigh escaping her pink mouth.

And he swallowed against the growing heat in his belly at the sight of the soft arching body.

She smiled at him, her tongue tracing white teeth-

Then her phone rang, buzzing on the bedside table.

They both jumped at the jolting noise and two startled pairs of eyes landed on the silver mobile phone. ~~Sarah-~~ Walker leaned across the bed to the side table. He looked over her shoulder to see that it was Graham's number.

Fliping her cellphone open, she pressed it to her ear. "It's Walker. Yes. No. Good morning to you too," Her lips stretched thin at that, trying not to sound irritable. "Yes, it is early for a call Graham. No, he walked away. I followed him but he didn't go far. He was upset, can you blame him? It was just a walk. No... no, he said he only wanted to clear his head. He's friendly, Graham, none of your agents will have a hard time."

She paused, eyes narrowing in something unreadable.

Casey couldn't catch any of the words her supervisor was saying. No matter what he was saying, with each word her face grew paler and paler, thin lips almost disappearing in a line. Looking up at Casey, she slowly dragged her cell from her ear and pressed a button.

Through the speaker, Graham's voice rang clear and business-like. "-even if you don't like it. This is just the way the higher-ups wants to handle the situation." Before she could protest, Graham's voice cut through the silent room. "I know how you feel about agent Casey. Beckman has ensured me that he can put aside his differences and work together with you. I hope that you can do the same."

Ice cold shot through his chest. He met her eyes with a numb panic, no. No. He wasn't panicked. That biting ice slipped between his ribs, slicing with each following word.

"We've simply decided that a joint effort is in the best interest of our departments. You understand, don't you?"

She swallowed, her eyes lowering to bore craters in Casey's chest. "I... understand." Taking a deep breath, she fidgeted with the cover across her knees. "When do we start?"

"We're assigning both of you locations close to the Intersect. You start immediately, but I will of course email you the full orders. I just- Sarah, I wanted to tell you. I wanted to break it to you." His voice softened. "I didn't want it to be a shock." 

"Thank you."

"I'll be in contact. I'm sorry if I woke you."

She muttered reassurances and a goodbye. Her fingers shook as she hung up, her hand falling to the bed.

They sat in rigid silence.

Walker didn't meet his eyes and he didn't expect her to. This wasn't supposed to happen. This was supposed to be a one-time, no strings attached, thing. A romp in the sheets and a simple goodbye. Not- not- she wasn't supposed to become his partner.

As he stood the covers fell away from his boxer clad legs. He looked down at her, hand resting at his hip, scowling. "It's time I took my leave."

"I think that sounds like- that's probably best." She flushed, trying to discreetly pull the cover up over her bare breasts. His eyes traveled from her eyes down to the exposed skin peaking from the hotel blanket. A blush raced up her neck, the flush gathering high in her cheeks and bright eyes. The raging heat from earlier worked its way to life in his abdomen. With a feat of strength, he pulled his discarded t-shirt over his head and slipped his trousers on.

It didn't take him long to retrieve all the pieces of his wardrobe from around the room and stuff them into his carry on. Casey didn't look back at her as he opened the suite door and exited.

* * *

Sarah watched him go. Emptiness coursed through her heart. Where the lighting from last night had buzzed and thrummed and soared, this feeling stung.

_Waves wash up against the shoreline. Sarah looks out at the moon casting pale light across the shimmering ocean. Chuck sits beside her with his long knees pulled up against his chest. He's staring out at the waves too. She wonders what it is that he sees._

_She can only see water and sky._

_Of course, she's lying._

_The ocean is cold despite the summer night. She shivers against the memory of a different beach and different waves._

_And a different warmth._

_Her knee is brushing up against Chuck's shin and the heat that glows between them is calm. She feels safe, not safe- she feels empty. His friendly kind warmth allows her to sit and stare out into the sea without having to process the thoughts churning in her head._

_"There's nowhere I can run, is there?" His voice breaks through her thoughts._

_"Not from us." She watches him chew his lip, blinking away moisture. "Talk to me Chuck."_

_"Yesterday I was making 11 bucks an hour fixing computers. Now I have one in my brain. And I can't figure out why Bryce did this, why he chose me."_

**Bryce.**

**What were you thinking? What was I thinking?**

She sighed. Fingers digging into her scalp, Sarah closed her eyes against the image of Casey's half-lidded eyes. As they rocked together, his voice in her ears, the pant of his breath was hot against her cheek.

**What kind of idiot am I?**

The pinch of her nails in her hair hurt, but it brought no relief to the irritation and guilt welling in her throat. Her guilt was partly for sleeping with someone so soon after Bryce's death. Her guilt was partly for the man, Casey, Bryce’s killer.

Her conscious cried out against the wrong she had done against a man that had loved her so effortlessly. So deeply. Bryce. Sweet, wistful, grounded Bryce.

They were things an agent should not do. She had a bad history with one of those things. Would she come to regret this choice like every time before?

* * *

It was 9:28 am.

Casey stood in the middle of the Buy More store, arms crossed over a bright green polo. He scowled at customers with his best attempt at hospitality.

That was when he saw him again.

Chuck stopped in mid-step out of the Buy More manager's office. He grimaced, frowned, opened his mouth to say something. Then he closed it. He opened his mouth again, stuttering, “Casey?” The pitch up in his voice spoke volumes.

He was about to step toward Casey when his little eyes caught sight of Walker. He really stopped in his tracks then. Floundering, blushing, spluttering, Chuck gaped in open-mouthed disbelief.

This whole situation was almost too ironic to be real. Three bodies stood in a triangle like the night before. There were no guns, but just like last night on the abandoned hotel roof, each one of them held a different motive. Each had a selfish, driving need. They might as well have been holding guns.

The only difference this morning was that this time they were on the same side. A team of sorts.

What an unlikely trio.

What struck Casey most about the situation was that some details were more complicated than others. And it was his own damn fault.

* * *

Life working at the Buy More was less than exciting. Less than thrilling.

Just two minutes later Casey changed his mind. There was nothing quite like a chase.

“Casey, Casey, Casey. No. No. No. No. NO! No, no, no, no! It’s just a video game, lives are not in danger and the country is still safe.” Chuck did his best to wrench Casey’s forearm up and away from the quaking shoplifter. Casey let him, scowling all the same.

“Wow!” Grims piped up, his little legs had taken the longest to catch up. He bent over panting and sweating. “This guy’s been here 24 hours and he’s taking his job WAY more seriously than me.” He pat Chuck on the back, still wheezing.

“That’s because he’s crazy.” Chuck gasped back.

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Was all Casey bothered to respond as he hauled the college-age thief up by his collar, propelling him back toward the Buy More.

Grims followed along, poking the perp and keeping up a string of threats and babble.

In the first 24 hours, as Grims had so kindly mentioned, his new part-time job had been less than exciting. Less than thrilling. At least there was the prospect of more action like this.

* * *

Sarah was frantically rushing about the cramped, minuscule Winerlicious kitchen like a mad-woman. Smoke billowed up into the air, an acrid and altogether stomach-churning smell washing over her. In one hand, she had a pair of scorched metal tongs, in the other, she had a flimsy little rag which she was using to feverishly fan the deep fryer. Her efforts did little to stop the billowing, puffing black smoke.

It was maybe 11:30 am and already she wanted to die.

Out of all the cover jobs they could have assigned her, fast food was the worst option.

"Sarah, what uh-" Chuck's confused voice cut through her grumbling thoughts.

She spun on her heels to face him, face flushed and stupid pigtails falling loose. She was dressed in a ridiculous short red skirt and a dipping white blouse. The last thing she wanted to do right now was deal with a pleasant, kind- she didn't have the brainpower to interact with Chuck at the moment.

"What are you doing here?"

"I work here now, Chuck." She did her best to soften the growl. He had the kindest face: concerned, confused. She flipped the washrag backed and forth above the smoking fryer. "Oh, damn! I. Burned. Another. Batch!" She gave up on her fanning and grabbed the fryer basket's handle with the cloth wrapped hand, tossing the charred corndogs in the sink. They clunked like rocks against the steel basin.

" _Why_ are you working here?"

"Surveillance." She spat, still gripping the fry basket. "I can monitor the Buy More from here while you work. It's just a cover."

"Right, yeah. All part of the plan- cause there's a plan, right?? I mean, you making gourmet wieners isn't exactly the reason why you joined the CIA- and Casey isn't a natural-born appliance salesman and the whole kinda government-secrets-locked-in-my-brain thing, uh that's, I'm sure, not really a boon for national security, so I'm hoping, I mean, I'm hoping that you'll tell me that there's a plan??""

Her irritation softened, pity curling her lips. He looked genuinely distraught. She had to remind herself that this whole mess was his life. He didn't have an escape from the database in his skull.

"We have a plan, Chuck. There is somebody who can help. But, we can discuss it further tonight." She glanced at the popping oil and the messy counter.

His shoulders were still tensed and his baby brown eyes watered just a bit.

"How about another date? I can pick you up at 8:00." She tested a small smile that reached her eyes.

He returned it, corners of his mouth quirking upward hopefully. "Yeah, yeah, that's- that sounds... I'd like that. That sounds great. I'll, uh, I'll see you." He turned around, shoulders hunching, and marched from the store.

She watched him leave.

Once the little bell above the door jangled, and he was fully out of sight, she slipped a folder from under the counter and flipped her phone out, pressing it to her ear. "Chuck is in." She breathed, taking in a deep breath. "Send the doctor."

The folder on the counter showed several pictures of a grim-looking man. He had dark eyes and an unreadable sneer. No matter how he looked, Zarnow was the best. He was the NSA's top neuroscientist, specializing in brain trauma and mental extraction. She'd never met the man but his reputation had gotten around. Not least, his appreciation for blondes.

* * *

At three minutes to 8:00pm, she pulled up outside Chuck's house. He was standing with his hands in his pockets, biting his lip on the curb, waiting for her. He was dressed casually, in neat clothes. His feet tapped anxiously at the concrete walkway.

She rolled down the passenger side window and leaned toward him. The evening had only just begun to fall and the thick summer scent of growing grass filled her car. "Get in."

"Woow." He laughed, "Wienerlicious really pays well, huh? Uh, what are we, uh, what are we doing?" He opened the side door and slid in. His long legs jostled a bit, trying to adjust to the small car. "We going to, uh, like a movie? Or maybe, to dinner?"

"Not exactly." She checked her rearview window, patting his knee.

"What, what does- what does 'not exactly' mean? Exactly?" He tensed at the contact. Buckling, he bit his lip again. A curl was dangling above his nose and she resisted the urge to brush it away.

She simply gave him a thin-lipped smile and stepped on the gas.


End file.
